


Restored

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Blood, Burning, Episode: s10ep18 Book of the Damned, M/M, Season/Series 10, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 23:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An echo sounds across the separation between the mortal world and the domain of the damned. This power shift is not catastrophic. It is not the rise of Lucifer or the landing of Michael. But Crowley feels  the tremor. It whispers across the surface of creation itself.</p>
<p>Few things are capable of causing such a fuss. Crowley presses a smirk against his hand.</p>
<p>--<br/>Takes place during Episode 10x18 - "Book of the Damned" Heavy spoilers through 10x18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restored

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to post Tumblr fics tied to Season 10 before the finale airs! 
> 
> I received this wonderful message in my Ask Box:
> 
> _I have a lot of feels about Crowley's choice of vessel and there's so much fic with Crowley appreciating Cas' vessel, but not nearly enough with the other way around. I love the thought of it being one of the factors Cas is attracted to him. I headcanon Cas' human side would respond to the older, professional, experienced and sturdy look. Someone who looks like he could potentially lean on and would protect him. He could let go and it would be okay, because Crowley's got it._
> 
> I agree wholeheartedly. More Crowley love! *o*

An echo sounds across the separation between the mortal world and the domain of the damned. This power shift is not catastrophic. It is not the rise of Lucifer or the landing of Michael. But Crowley feels  the tremor. It whispers across the surface of creation itself. 

Few things are capable of causing such a fuss. Crowley presses a smirk against his hand. 

His throne room crowds with wide-eyed minions. “It is Castiel, King,” one says. “His grace has returned.”

“You should have killed him when you had the chance, King,” another grouses. 

Crowley disagrees. He tightens his fist, and the demon disintegrates before the court. Stunned murmurs rumble around him.

“Anyone else have an opinion they’d like to share?” Crowley asks. 

Silence.

Crowley snaps his fingers and removes himself from the throne room. After all, it is not every day that an angel regains his grace. Crowley would like to see with his own eyes.

He appears topside to an uninspired location. He assumed the site of the angel’s rebirth would be more poetic. Deep in the mountains. Or beneath a grand tree, perhaps.

The aftershocks pull Crowley to a library. He whistles as he strolls down an aisle. The books are marked with Enochian blood-warding. The script is a bit runny, but Crowley gets the gist. It is an attack on false power, targeting the fallen. Namely, one in Castiel’s situation, living off the grace of the dead.

Castiel’s _former_ situation, anyhow.

Crowley rounds the stacks. There are books everywhere, an explosion of paper and binding. 

At the end of the destruction stands Castiel. His light is fading, a shadow of broken wings dissolving from the wall. As it wanes, only the dark outline of his vessel remains.

Castiel turns towards him. His posture is straighter than Crowley has seen in years. Head lifted. Back stiff. 

Crowley folds arms over his chest. “Rumor has it, you’ve lost your companion,” he says. “The Scribe. He carries something of great value, and potentially greater detriment to me.”

“Yes,” Castiel replies. His expression is stone.

“I assume you will make retrieving the shaggy beast and _my_ tablet your highest priority?”

“I will go to the Winchesters,” Castiel says. “Sam is calling.”

Crowley snorts. “Ah, yes. A chatty one, that Moose.“ 

Castiel’s eyes return to their mortal blue. But Crowley still feels the renewed power within him. It flows from Castiel in waves, crashing into the open space between them. 

Crowley chuckles. "Look at you. Little Cas with his wings. I didn't even hear a bell ring.”

Castiel does not reply. 

Crowley normally enjoys a quiet Castiel. Mute birds are easy targets. Crowley will jump at any opportunity to taunt his nemesis. 

But, with this resurgence, Castiel’s silence makes Crowley wary. “Cat got your tongue?” he mutters.

Castiel does not answer. But he moves closer. With every step, Crowley feels the billowing heat of Castiel’s grace. A fine sweat builds on the back of Crowley’s neck. 

Crowley forces himself to stand tall. He will never live down cowering before this beast. But this renewed strength makes Crowley nervous. He prepares to draw his blade.

When Castiel reaches for him, Crowley expects a fight to the death. 

He frowns when Castiel traces his jaw instead. Idle fingers scratch through Crowley’s beard. His thumb bites into the soft skin beneath Crowley’s chin.

Crowley licks his lips, and Castiel licks his own. Castiel drags a finger across his mouth. It comes away wet with saliva.

Crowley’s smirk borders incredulity. “Does fresh mojo tickle your fancy, love?”

Castiel says nothing. The finger wet from Crowley’s lips is dragged down his throat. A stripe of wetness cools over Crowley's Adam’s apple. 

Crowley swallows. His pants feel snug.

This is all quite perplexing. But since the dumb bird is not speaking anyway…

Crowley steps in for Castiel’s mouth. Castiel pushes him back before he can make contact. 

“Are you joking?” Crowley grumbles. He liked the thought of his tongue tasting the roof of Castiel’s mouth. Being thwarted is annoying, frankly.

“I want to look at you,” Castiel says. Finally, it speaks.

Crowley frowns. “What for?”

Castiel does not respond. Crowley should have expected this, but his silence is still aggravating. 

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Fine. Look. It’s the same bloody vessel." His expression turns pensive. "I’ve considered a change of late. Something that might better suit my business ventures-”

“No.”

Crowley’s brow arches. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

Castiel takes hold of Crowley’s tie. He loosens the knot, a slow pull draws the fabric from under Crowley’s collar. With the tie draped over an arm, Castiel proceeds to the shirt buttons. He exposes Crowley the human way, pinching to reveal fresh skin from his chest to his waist. 

“No,” Castiel repeats. He emphasizes the word with his mouth, pressed between Crowley’s parted shirt. 

This act could be a ruse, Crowley realizes. Cautious, he searches for signs of deceit.

Castiel pushes Crowley’s open shirt from his shoulders. Upper body exposed, Castiel combs fingers down his arms. His mouth is at Crowley’s chest. He pauses to pinch one nipple and tongue at the other. The bud is rolled between his teeth.  

Crowley grunts. Wary as he is, Castiel is distracting. As is his own erection. It pushes uncomfortably against the zipper at his crotch.

But the angel is too busy at Crowley’s stomach. He bites the tender skin, leaving pink teeth marks behind. His face nudges against flesh as his hands slide around Crowley’s waist. They push into the small of Crowley’s back, kneading loose skin. 

It is a sturdy vessel. Solid enough, but not rock.

Crowley glares hard. “I chose this meat for a reason, you damned-”

He trails off when Castiel lifts his head. The angel’s eyes are smoldering, hooded and pupil-wide. His tongue slides over parted lips. 

“… What’s gotten into you?” Crowley marvels. 

The King of Hell must admit, he is thrilled by this strange lust. Desire equals power, and there is nothing Crowley loves more. But Crowley cannot bring himself to gloat. He does not feel control in this moment. 

Crowley feels horny. And impatient. Real bloody impatient.

Castiel is on his knees, what a sight, unbuckling Crowley’s pants. Grace radiates from him, thick and bright. He hurts to look at, but stinging eyes are an acceptable trade for this view.

Crowley hums when his slacks are opened. He is beyond ready for the angel’s mouth around his cock. His shaft is red and hard, jutting gladly from his underwear. 

Castiel’s mouth goes to his legs instead. He licks lines of muscle and runs fingers up Crowley’s calves. His body shifts between Crowley’s legs to bite at the thick meat of his thighs. 

Castiel spreads Crowley’s balls and thumbs between them. His mouth moves under them, tonguing at the place just under his sac.

Crowley curses. Deferring to the power of this creature is one thing, but he will not be made a fool of. Crowley winds a hand around himself with a long, satisfying stroke.

This relief does not last long. Castiel’s grip latches to his wrist and tears Crowley from himself. Crowley feels the touch to his bone, sizzling hot. He yelps and rips away. His skin is marked by a burned hand print.

“Don’t,” Castiel says.

Crowley sputters with disbelief. “You…fucking burned me, you giraffe!" 

This is a burn of angel grace. It will heal eventually. But Crowley cannot remove it himself, not yet.

Castiel turns solemn eyes upward. "I will do it again, if necessary.” With these words, he moves behind Crowley.

Crowley is incensed…and aroused beyond belief. Thick, delicious agony pulses from his blistered skin. 

Castiel’s mouth wanders up his spine while his fingers spread Crowley’s ass. Perhaps Crowley should have expected the touch, but it surprises him. He groans. A slow shine of precum dribbles from his slit.

He feels Castiel stand at his back. It hits Crowley - the angel is fully clothed, fabric against his vessel's skin. He mouths at Crowley’s neck and nuzzles his hair

The metal shift of a zipper catches Crowley’s ear. Moments later, he feels the head of Castiel’s cock against him. Crowley groans again, quieter. He reaches back for the angel’s thighs, scraping them encouragingly. Castiel does not go further.

“Get on with it,” Crowley grits. This game is no longer fun.

Castiel’s mouth starts on the side of Crowley’s neck. He rises to Crowley’s ear and pulls the lobe between his lips. Crowley’s hips buck backward. He body demands action, immediately.

Castiel’s hands come to life, but neither satisfies. One slides into the hair at the base of Crowley’s cock. It strolls through curls while the second hand moves up Crowley’s neck.  

Crowley is done with this. He bows his head and bites Castiel’s fingers. Hard. They bleed. 

He expects the angel to heal himself. Castiel does not. He just chuckles against Crowley’s ear. The sound is low, so utterly in control. Crowley’s stomach twists with a furious need. 

Castiel’s bloody fingers drag across Crowley’s mouth. Crowley swallows them in, tasting blood and skin. Human blood, but not. Angel blood, but not. Crowley sucks on them hungrily. The demon inside shivers at the perverseness of his own lust. 

He growls when Castiel takes his fingers back.  Blood and saliva are smeared on his face. Crowley nuzzles his hand greedily, exhaling through an open mouth. 

Castiel moves his hips. Finally! He feels Castiel inch inside him.

But he stops far short, covered to the cock head. What a friggen tease! Crowley pushes back insistently, but the angel holds rigid. 

The hand at Crowley’s stomach slides downward again. Maybe now, Crowley thinks? But Castiel evades his cock. Instead, he cradles Crowley’s balls between his fingers. They tighten on his skin. 

“Get _on with it_ , Cas,” Crowley mutters. 

Castiel does, but not in the way Crowley expects or wants. He winds a hand around the base of his own cock, not around Crowley. Hard, tight fists pump himself in succession. Crowley bites his blood-wet lip. 

Castiel is still inside him to the tip. With every stroke, Crowley feels a ghost of his fingers. The slightest flutter of contact as Castiel fists himself.

“You disaster,” Crowley barks. He is rewarded with Castiel’s free hand, his torn hand, pressed to his chest. Blood leaves a dull stain on his skin.

Castiel’s chin drapes over his shoulder. He turns to nose at Crowley’s ear with a far-too-gentle kiss.

Then…the goddamned bird groans. He must tighten his hand, or scrape that vein on the low side of his vessel’s cock. When Castiel groans, he pushes his face tight to Crowley’s neck. He thrums with power, nearly hot enough to melt the skin from Crowley’s vessel. 

Crowley rocks his hips back again. Castiel steps just far enough away. His cock head remains inside. He keeps the rest for himself, fucked rudely in his own hand.

“Castiel,” Crowley grits. This is unbearable. He, a demon - the King of Hell! - is aroused to the point of agony. 

Crowley considers the burn on his wrist. Wouldn’t another mark be worth a second of sweet relief? His need is a weight low in his belly. His knees feel heavy. His cock is slick and abandoned. Crowley's fingers dig uselessly into the clothed thighs behind him.

“Crowley,” the angel murmurs. His bloody hand moves to Crowley’s stomach. A streak of red marks the trail between his chest and belly.

Castiel nips at a corner of his mouth. Far too cute for this travesty of a sexual encounter. Crowley licks away the gentle sting. Castiel’s eyes go pupil-dark. 

The pressure of Castiel’s hand increases on Crowley’s stomach. He pushes down as his hips - fuck yes - his hips move forward. Castiel’s fingers give way, his cock filling Crowley in a smooth, even thrust. Crowley’s waist spasms, surprising himself with a hiss. 

His teeth are still clenched when Castiel kisses him. A gasp leads to Castiel’s tongue teasing past his lips. He tastes better than oxygen. Demon, after all. 

Crowley pushes himself back hard on Castiel. His dick bobs over his stomach, leaking and attention-starved. Castiel’s tongue strokes, a hot lull between his lips. Crowley tastes it with his own. His veins pulse, and his knees feel heavier.

Castiel stays deep in him, his thrusts tight and close. Crowley feels Castiel’s terrible tie sway against his spine. The edges of his mess of a coat whisper against his thighs.

The hand on Crowley’s stomach finally, finally!, dips lower. All Castiel needs to do is wrap his hand around Crowley and squeeze. 

Crowley rips his head back and curses under his breath. His release spills into Castiel’s hand. Rapid-fire spasms. Castiel holds him down and rides out every twitch and wring. He rocks back on the stone stiffness of the angel’s body.  Crowley hears Castiel grunt, fastened tight to his body when he comes. 

“Unfair. Damn you,” Crowley pants.

He glares at Castiel’s passive smile. The angel removes himself with a slick sound. 

Castiel closes himself in his clothing in silence. Then, he takes Crowley’s hand. A soft, blue light waves over him. The burn on his wrist disappears.

“This is a good look for you,” Castiel says.

Crowley snarls and tears his hand away. He does not get a chance to voice his displeasure. The angel disappears in a rustle of broken wings.

Crowley waves his clothes back on quickly. He is angry, confused, and supremely satisfied.

But Crowley's first reaction is to smirk. A fully-strengthened Castiel will cause problems, of this Crowley has no doubt. 

But power has many uses. Crowley is sure he can come up with a few of his own. 

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, I'm on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) too. Come say hi before or after the Season 10 finale. We can cry together... ;_;


End file.
